


A Will of Her Own

by ohmytheon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:13:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmytheon/pseuds/ohmytheon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven little ficlets, some AU, that show the reactions to Arya and Gendry's unconventional relationship from the point of views of Ned, Catelyn, Robb, Jon, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Will of Her Own

**Author's Note:**

> Most of these little scenes AU, but they're not all set in the same AU-verse. So if something seems contradictory, it's because it's a different AU.

_Of course he’s a bastard._

Neither of them said it out loud. Neither of them had to. The moment Arya had introduced Gendry to him, Jon had known it. Of course. The moment Gendry had walked away, to give them some time alone together, Jon had simply looked at his little sister, who was no longer so little (but always would be to him), and they had smiled. It was one of those secret smiles that said a thousand and one things that only they could understand or ever know.

“Does everyone know?” he asked her as they sat at the top of the wall, their feet dangerously dangling over the edge.

“Know what?” she responded, ever so innocently, tilting her head and giving him a sweet and wondering look.

Jon nudged her in the shoulder. “That you love a bastard.”

“They’ve _always_ known I love a bastard,” she laughed.

“Stubborn – but you know what I mean.”

Arya just shrugged her shoulders and looked out at beyond the Wall. She had worn such an amazed look on her face when they’d rode up, but she hadn’t truly looked happy or excited until she’d seen Jon. She’d seen him a million times and the Wall only that once, but it was him that made her glow – him and Gendry. Arya had always been hard and closed, with most everyone but him, but whenever Gendry looked at her and smiled goofily, she would soften in ways Jon hadn’t thought her capable. She didn’t even seem to realize it herself.

“They might know,” she conceded, still not looking at him, “but I don’t care. He worries, of course – he always worries, since he’s a bastard and I’m a Stark – but it doesn’t matter. It never did and never will. Just because he’s a bastard doesn’t mean I can’t love him.” When she glanced up at him, Jon saw the nine year-old Arya Stark he’d last seen in Winterfell all those years ago. “I’ve known that forever.”

* * *

When Ned had first looked upon Gendry all those years ago, he had never once thought that he would see the bastard boy again, especially not at Winterfell. Seven years later, he was standing in the forge at Castle Black, smithing a sword with ease, as Arya leaned against a column and watched. He was given laughs and smiles by Arya that she gave no one else. When she thought no one was looking, she’d sneak up behind him, throw her arms around him, and give him a kiss or playfully bite him on the ear. It was hard not to hear the boy’s loud laughter booming from behind the door.

 _He has Robert’s laugh,_ Ned had thought more than once. And he had Robert’s looks and his eyes and his strength – but he had something that Robert had not. He had a heart and a gentle spirit that was very much unlike his father.

When the two of them had rode up to the Wall together to visit him, with Gendry trailing behind her almost sheepishly and Arya sitting upright defiantly, Ned had been so taken aback that he’d had trouble speaking for a moment. He’d been blown away by the sudden likeness to a scene he’d witnessed so many years ago. If only for a second, he’d seen his sister Lyanna riding proudly as Robert struggled on the horse behind her. She had always been an excellent rider, whereas Robert had done better on the ground. It had been the same way with Arya and Gendry. But whereas Robert had tried to help Lyanna down and she’d jumped down without his help, practically refusing him, Gendry had stepped back and allowed Arya to swing off her horse by herself.

There was a push and pull to them that Ned had done every day with Catelyn. People had tried to tell him that it wasn’t right – that he needed to separate the two – but he did not care. _I am no longer the Lord of Winterfell,_ he’d say, _it is Robb’s choice._ But it wasn’t Robb’s choice. It was Arya’s. He knew that his daughter was as willful as winter and she would do as she pleased. He also knew that his oldest son would never force Arya to part with someone she loved. After Ned had been forced to the Wall, Arya had vanished and no one need tell her how to live when she’d been living on her own for so long.

And besides, it was clear as day to see that Gendry Waters, lowborn bastard or king’s bastard, was more in love with Arya than Robert had ever been with Lyanna. He would do well by Arya, better than any highborn lord that would hope to wed her.

* * *

Catelyn couldn’t help but sigh and shake her head as she watched her youngest daughter spare in the courtyard. After all of the failed dancing lessons in which Arya had been proclaimed completely incapable of being taught and the clumsiest girl to have ever lived in Westeros, she was so elegant and graceful and balanced as she leapt around with a sword in her hand. A part of her wondered if Arya had failed so terribly at dancing lessons on purpose when it was clearly obvious that she had more grace than most people, but Catelyn didn’t think it so. This was a different kind of dancing – _water dancing,_ she heard Arya say proudly – and it was the kind that her daughter enjoyed and loved.

That was not the only thing that Arya loved though. That much was for sure.

Sparring against her, quite hopelessly, was the bastard boy she had brought with her, Gendry Waters. It was clear as day that he was one of Robert’s many bastards – one of his only surviving children, in fact. She had spoken with him once, only to find out that he had no idea who his father was and he had no one left in his family to speak of. Despite everything, Catelyn’s heart had went out to him. She’d thought about taking the two of them to the Vale, where he would be able to meet his half-sister, if only because she saw the way he sometimes looked sadly on at Arya with her brothers and sisters. He had no idea what family was like, when it was the one thing that Catelyn knew to be true.

At first, Catelyn had been very taken aback. Though it was never said between the two of them and they were never terribly improper with one another in public, Catelyn had seen something between them. All the subtle touches and glances and the times she’d smack him if he ever reverted to calling her _m’lady_ even when in the company of highborns and the days she spent in the forge and the afternoons when they’d spare together and the nights they’d sit in the godswood together. She refused to sit and eat with them unless Gendry could too, which had been a fight in itself. Once it had been allowed, Gendry had refused it, saying it wasn’t right and that they shouldn’t bend their customs to him. Catelyn had been so touched by his adamancy for him to remain in his place out of courtesy that she had stood up and told him to sit down next to Arya.

It had perhaps been that moment when she’d realized that she no longer cared if Arya was in love with a lowborn bastard. The fact that she was in love at all was a relief to Catelyn, who had been scared that Arya would be wild all her life, only to never love. It was clear, as Arya danced around Gendry, jabbing him gently, and they laughed together, that she would never be alone and that she had someone that loved her for being wild as the forest.

* * *

“If you try to make me marry someone I don’t want to, I’ll leave. I swear it, Robb; I’ll leave again.”

Robb was doing his best not to laugh as his little sister stood in front of him. She had stormed into the castle, her hair a mess filled with leaves and twigs; there was dirt on her face; and she was wearing what looked like Bran’s old clothes. The two of them were still so similar in size that Robb heard Bran complain about the state she left his clothes in at least twice a week. The moment that she’d heard that Lord Edric Dayne, the young lord of Starfall, would be coming to Winterfell, she had flown in like a blizzard. He had been in the middle of listening to an elderly man from a lower House when she’d come in and demanded to speak with him. Of course he tried to scold her on interrupting him, but she would have none of it.

“I won’t do it, Robb.”

“Arya.”

“You can’t make me marry some stranger.”

“ _Arya_.”

“I won’t let you!”

“ARYA, stop it!”

Robb bit his lip as Arya went silent and to also hide his amusement. She looked so wild. He had no idea what she’d been doing before she’d come here, but he had an inkling that it had to do with a certain bastard boy that she was always with. She huffed at him, refusing to look abashed or cowed, as she always did. He might have been the Lord of Winterfell, but she was the lord of her own life and she would always do what she wanted. He’d known that about her since she was a toddler.

“I’m not going to marry you to Edric Dayne, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he finally told her. A look of surprise crossed her face, but she hid it as quickly as she could. She began to squirm in front of him as his words went through her mind. She’d been yelling at him for ten minutes about something he hadn’t even planned on doing. Though she still didn’t look guilty, he could see in her eyes that she was starting to feel it. “I’d never make you be with someone for the rest of your life that you didn’t want to. I’m not that kind of lord, and I thought you knew that.” Here, her eyes dropped to the floor. “Besides,” he added with a smirk, “I think your heart is already spoken for.”

“You’re so stupid!” she snapped, her cheeks flushing bright red, as she spun on her heels and stomped out the door, Robb’s laughter following her every step.

* * *

“Arya, you can’t just do this. You’ll bring shame to our family. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Does my happiness not mean anything to _you_?”

“Of course it does, but it can’t just be about _you_. It has to be about the family, our name, our reputation. More than just your happiness is at stake here.”

“Yeah, his happiness as well – which, quite frankly, I care about a lot more than some stupid family honor.”

Sansa brought her hands to her chest. Unwittingly, she found them clasping the necklace that she’d worn for years. It was a necklace that her lord husband had given her on their wedding night. It had not been a happy night. Sansa had been twice married, both for political gain, and though she had grown fond of her second husband, she could not say that she loved him. Meanwhile, here was her little sister, vicious and still refusing to be a lady, and yet she was the one in love. She was the one that had a handsome knight that loved her in return.

 _This was supposed to be my song,_ Sansa thought sadly, though she was not jealous or angry with Arya for having something that she had longed for many years.

“Just because you’re the Lady of Winterfell now does not mean you can just ship me off to whoever you want to in order to make some stupid alliance with a House I don’t even care about.”

 _She doesn’t want to become me,_ Sansa suddenly realized. There was anger in Arya, her whole body clenched tightly and her eyes hard with flint, but there was also fear. The two sisters had become much closer since Sansa’s return to Winterfell. So much had transpired in their lives that it seemed silly to fight all the time. Sure, they were different, as Sansa was all summer and Arya was all winter, but they had learned to work together so well. She didn’t want to lose that again and neither did Arya. But even more so, Arya did not want to lose herself, not like she had, like both of them had.

“Do you love him, truly?”

Arya did not look away. “You know the answer.”

“I need to hear it from you.”

A beat and then – “Yes.”

“Has he taken your maidenhead?”

“No,” she responded flatly, “I gave it to him.”

Sansa sighed and wondered what that might be like. She was pregnant with hers and Harry’s first child, but she did not recall the conception being one that was completely mutual. Of course she did because it was her duty and Harry was charming and sweet when he wanted to be, but she wished she would ache for him as she knew Arya ached for the bastard boy. “I know he is a good man, but sometimes, being good isn’t good enough.” Before Arya could say anything, Sansa continued, “But more importantly, I don’t want to lose you over something as ridiculous as a man. I lost you before – so many times, to different things – I won’t lose you again. You will love who you want to love and you will be with who you want to be. It’s selfish, but it’s wonderful at the same time, and I won’t have you any other way.”

For the first time since she’d returned to Winterfell, even after they had grown close, Arya threw her arms around Sansa and hugged her fiercely. Sansa would never grow old of this.

* * *

“Are you certain that Gendry likes girls?” Bran asked her one day while they were practicing their archery atop horses. “Because you’re always wearing _my_ clothes.”

Arya nearly choked and her shock was enough for her to loose the arrow suddenly and send it flying into the trees, far off from the target they’d set up. Gendry, who was sitting on their right but far enough for him not to have heard Bran, fell back against a tree laughing as Arya huffed angrily on the horse and swore loudly. Bran grinned broadly as Arya shot him a glare and then forced to horse to trot to the side so that Bran could take his place to shoot his arrow.

“Of course he likes girls,” Arya finally snapped. “Don’t be so stupid.”

“I’m only jesting,” Bran said mildly, the grin having not left his face. “But you’re wrong – he doesn’t like girls.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not wrong.”

Bran set up the arrow, aiming for the target. Arya frowned at him, watching him carefully. She had always been much more capable shooting arrows than him when they had been on foot as children, but now that he’d had years of practice on a horse, he knew he was more than capable of showing her up. “Gendry doesn’t like _girls_ ,” he said. “He loves _a_ girl that wears boy clothes and can beat him in a sword fight and smacks him and calls him stupid all the time. He loves a girl that loves him back, despite the fact that she used to run around pretending to be a boy and saying that she’d never be in love.”

And then he let go and the arrow hit the target right on the dot.

* * *

“I thought you were going to be the Maiden Knight of the Kingsguard.”

“Well, I thought you were going to be the Cannibal King Beyond the Wall.”

Rickon grinned. “Who says I still can’t be?”

Arya laughed and tugged on her dress. It was too tight, too soft, too much of everything. Out of all her siblings to come in to see her one last time before the ceremony, she hadn’t expected it to be Rickon. He was three and ten but growing so fast. It was hard for her sometimes to reconcile him now with the boy she had left in Winterfell as a child. It had been ten years since then. A lot could happen in ten years and a lot did. People died and people changed. The winds came and went. And Rickon had become the young Lord of Winterfell while Arya had become a knight.

“Are you scared?” he asked her.

“More than ever,” she admitted quietly, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

“Well, you shouldn’t be,” Rickon told her, folding her arms across his thin chest. “You’re the bravest person I know.” He hugged her, and she hugged him back, thinking of how he’d held onto so tightly that day she’d left for King’s Landing.  “And he loves you. More than anything, he does. You should’ve seen him asking me for permission. I’m not _that_ scary, am I?”

Arya kissed him on top of the head, even though he was too old for that and just as tall as her now. “Just a bit. And you did threaten to feed him to Shaggydog should he harm me.”

“That was just a bit of harmless fun. I’d never seen him so pale though.”

Shaking her head at him, Arya just to wipe away the insecurities and fears that had been plaguing her for months. It wasn’t really about her so much as him. He deserved better, even though he kept saying that she was the one that deserved more. She would not be able to give him the life most men dreamed of; she would not be the wife most men wanted. But he’d assured her that was the very reason he did want her. He’d offered to never bring up marriage, but hell, she was the one that wanted to make an honest man out of him. He spent so much time thinking he was nothing and wasn’t honest, just because of his blood. She’d make a Stark out of him yet.

“Thank you,” Arya told her little brother, “for allowing this.”

Rickon scoffed and jumped to his feet. “Just because I’m the Lord of Winterfell does not mean I can tell you what to do. What do I care what people think of who you marry? Some _still_ call me a cannibal, and that doesn’t bother me. I’d rather you be with someone that makes you happy than miserable with someone that makes my political stance in the North stronger – or whatever the Maester rambles on about when complaining about this or that.”

Arya chuckled again. “You’re still wild as ever.”

“And so are you. I doubt marrying Gendry will change that ever.”

 


End file.
